THE ILLNESS, THE DIAGNOSIS, THE REMEDY - IKAR

THE ILLNESS, THE DIAGNOSIS, THE REMEDY
                                      Tazria-Metzora 5781

                                      Rabbi Sharon Brous

    When the affliction appeared experts were called close to determine if it was a harmless,
surface reaction, or a symptom of a dangerous illness taking root in a body already profoundly
 unwell. Today the experts-- those closest to the pain point—are unequivocal: the contagion of
violence in our society is no surface rash. Police killings, mass shootings—these are not isolated
  incidents, individual tragedies. Those pulling the trigger are not lone gunmen, bad apples. A
dangerous affliction has taken root in our nation, and it threatens to destroy the whole body if
                                        it’s not rooted out.

Tazria-Metzora is IKAR’s birthday parasha, the Torah portion of our first shabbat together.

I remember standing before a packed room in the Robertson arts studio in the spring of 2004,
that very first shabbat, faced with the challenge of translating passages from Leviticus about
contagious, erupting skin lesions into a message that would inspire us all to birth new kind of
community, with an old-new way of practicing Judaism into the world. I had a kind of NY, NY
attitude about it: if we can make it there, we’ll make it anywhere. Genesis would be a breeze.
This parasha will always be associated in my mind with the challenge of that birth moment.

Several years later, the prominent association with this Torah portion shifted for me from that
birth moment to another moment: Hart Campbell’s bar mitzvah. I will never forget Hart
standing before our community, sharing his struggle with a Torah that compels the metzora, a
person afflicted with a mysterious skin disease—tzaraat—to be shamed in front of the whole
community, forced to publicly declare himself “Unwell! Unwell!” In the nearly two years since
Hart and his big sister, Ruby, tragically died, as we grieved with Gail and Colin, and as we
wrestled in unprecedented ways through the pandemic with illness and wellness, calamity and
catastrophe, I have thought about Hart’s struggle many times.

And I have thought about Hart’s conclusion too, which I was so moved by that I shared last year
at Kol Nidre, b’shem amro, in his name: that the public declaration not only makes sense but is
an act of grace if we think of the metzora as a person dealing with anxiety, depression, OCD.
Hart, who knew something about the human hearts and our struggles, could see how the
stigma around mental illness might lead people who are suffering to withdraw, precisely when
they need the most help. He realized that only when we step forward and share what we’re
struggling with, only when we declare “Unwell! Unwell! Broken! Broken!” might we be
embraced with love and support. I still shiver at the thought of it.

Rabbi Sharon Brous                      www.ikar-la.org                                           1

Later this morning, you’ll hear another interpretation from another brilliant and sensitive young
person, Mateo Weill, who will add his own interpretation to Hart’s and to those of our Rabbis.

With gratitude to Hart and Mateo, and to all those teachers who have wrestled with this
difficult text, I add my interpretation today to theirs.

I will start near the beginning of the parasha, where we’re first introduced to the strange
illness, tzaraat, understood by our Rabbis to be an external indication, a warning, of some kind
of internal problem.

Because it is a disease that can quickly spread through both the body and the community, early
diagnosis is critical. Let us look at one particular moment in the evaluation of this mysterious
affliction:

 ‫ ׀ ָלָ֗בן וַּמ ְרֵ֤אה ַהֶ֙נַּג֙ע ָﬠֹמ֙ק ֵמ֣ﬠוֹר ְבָּשׂ֔רוֹ ֶ֥נ ַגע ָצַ֖רַﬠת ֑הוּא ְוָרָ֥אהוּ‬w‫ְוָרָ֣אה ַהֹכֵּ֣הן ֶאת־ַהֶ֣נּ ַגע ְבּֽﬠוֹר־ַ֠הָבָּשׂר ְוֵשָׂ֨ﬠר ַבֶּ֜נַּגע ָהַ֣פ‬
                                                                                                                                      ‫ַהֹכֵּ֖הן ְוִטֵ֥מּא ֹאֽתוֹ׃‬
The priest shall examine the affection on the skin of his body: if hair in the affected patch has
turned white and the affection appears to be deeper than the skin of his body, it is a leprous
affection; when the priest sees it, he shall pronounce him unclean. (Lev 13:3)

A person who has a suspicious skin rupture, potential evidence of tzaraat, is brought before the
kohen, the priest, for an assessment. Imagine going to your dermatologist for an assessment of
a spot that appears on your skin. The kohen’s role is simple: he is called to determine if the
illness is surface, or more than skin deep.

He gets close and looks carefully. If he perceives it to be no more than a surface indicator, the
case is dismissed. A simple topical ointment and you’ll be fine.

But if the kohen determines that the affliction is ‫ ָﬠֹמ֙ק ֵמ֣ﬠוֹר ְבָּשׂ֔רוֹ‬-- deeper than skin, then, and
only then, the person is declared tamei, impure. Contaminated. Unwell.

Now—to state the obvious—if your doctor wrongly diagnoses the spot on your skin as non-
cancerous, even when it is in fact cancer, you are still in danger. You still need treatment, and
you ignore it at your own peril. In contrast, tzaraat is determined SOLELY on the basis of the
kohen’s proclamation. If he doesn’t call it an affliction, it is not.

But if he declares your ailment tzaraat, your whole life turns upside down. Your clothing is rent,
your hair is shaved, you wear the garments of a mourner (Lev. 13:45). And you are to publicly
proclaim, as Hart noted: ‫–ְוָטֵ֥מא ׀ ָטֵ֖מא‬unwell, unwell! And as long as the affliction persists, you
are sent into isolation, forced to dwell outside the camp. There is no normal, once that
declaration is made. The full force of the community is dedicated to addressing the problem
and rooting out the illness lest it spread and infect us all.

Rabbi Sharon Brous                                               www.ikar-la.org                                                                           2

How does the kohen make such an important decision? Rambam (Hilkhot Tumat Tzaraat 1:6)
notes that the kohen as to look closely and carefully to determine just how deep the blemish
reaches beneath the surface. Is it just a rash, or is it a menacing and life-altering affliction? How
deeply embedded is the illness in the system? Is this something we can live with, or something
that will kill us if we don’t treat it?

Think about that, in light of these past couple of painful days. I saw, a few times, some version
of this post this week:

We interrupt our coverage of the protests of the police murder of Daunte Wright
…which interrupted the trial of the police murder of George Floyd
…which interrupted the coverage of the mass shooting in Colorado
…which interrupted the coverage of the anti-Asian shooting spree in Atlanta
…to bring you coverage of the point blank police shooting of 13 year old Adam Toledo,
…which has now been interrupted to bring you the coverage of a mass shooting at a FexEx
facility in Indianapolis. God help us.

This makes me think about Hart Campbell’s take on the parasha. What if tamei, tamei is not an
acknowledgment of guilt, but a cry for help?

This is one read offered by the Rabbis in the Talmud, in Moed Katan 5a. Unwell! Unwell! – this
is the wail of a person in distress. An invitation to the community, to the public, to pray for
mercy on behalf of the one who is in pain.

This is happening to me, the metzora says. Don’t look away! I need you to see me! I need you to
give a damn! I need your help. Your love.

In our time, the metzora has been walking through the streets for years now, crying out Tamei!
Tamei! Unwell! Unwell! The system is broken! We are broken!

But don’t we try so hard not to hear! The metzora approaches, and we avert our eyes. We
change channels. Find another route home.

Until something happens—maybe one of these terrible shootings. Maybe the murder of the 13-
year-old boy who so resembles my own 12-year-old boy. Or maybe so many things happen in
rapid succession that at some point the chorus of pain grows so great that we simply can no
longer ignore it. We have no choice but to engage.

Today there is no kohen, no one person who makes the ultimate determination of how serious
the sickness is in our society. There’s no one, definitive voice. Instead, there are thousands of
competing voices, all fighting for their narrative to be heard. It’s easy, in all the noise, to get
lost. But the Torah insists: ‫ ְוַאֶ֧תּם ִתְּהיוּ־ ִ֛לי ַמְמֶ֥לֶכת ֹכֲּה ִ֖נים‬-- We are a nation of priests (Ex 19:6). Each

Rabbi Sharon Brous                               www.ikar-la.org                                                         3

of us, charged to decipher between a surface cut or rash and a deep rooted, life threatening
illness. So who and what we listen to matters.

This week, I’m listening to the mothers.

You probably heard by now that when Duante Wright saw that the police signaled for him to
pull over, he called his mother, a woman named Katie Wright. She was on the phone with him
seconds before he was shot and killed.

A few days later the mothers of Trayvon Martin, Michael Brown and Eric Garner came together
to lift their voices to the tragedy and travesty of violence toward Black men and boys in our
country, and to offer words of love and consolation to Katie: “To my sister you are not alone,
we are here for you.”

I’m hearing echoes of my friend Rev. Najuma Smith-Pollard, praying for all of the mothers
who’ve lost children: “…The womb is crying! The womb is hemorrhaging! The womb is hurting!”

I’m listening to George Floyd’s family, who stepped out of the courtroom this week to offer
words of comfort to the Wright family: "We will stand in support with you."

I’m listening to Fred Guttenberg, the father of Jamie, 16 when she was shot down in Parkland,
who writes of waking up to the horror of the mass shooting in Indianapolis, offering his love
and strength to the families of the victims.

I’m listening to the voices of those who’ve taken to the street in Brooklyn Center, Minnesota.
Those who are tired of having their neighbors, their friends, their sons shot. I’m hearing their
rage. Their grief. Their exhaustion. I’m hearing their public lament. Their call to action.

I’m listening to the rage of Charles Blow, who wrote just this morning that the gun violence and
police violence that erupted this week are not coincidental. “The police justify their
militarization… by correctly observing that they can be outgunned by a public with such easy
access to guns, including military-style guns.”

These are the survivors. Those who have lost the most. They are closest to the wound, and able
to see what others might not notice.

They’re begging the rest of us to see that this is no surface rash. These are not isolated
incidents. Individual tragedies. Lone gunmen. Bad apples.

This is a dangerous affliction, and it’s taken root deep in the system. An illness that threatens to
destroy the whole body if not rooted out.

What those closest to the illness see is a pattern of racism, violence, and disgraceful inaction.

Rabbi Sharon Brous                         www.ikar-la.org                                          4

What they are calling for is justice and accountability. They demand an honest reckoning
around the contagion of violence—gun violence and police violence—so that it doesn’t spread,
costing more precious lives. So that it doesn’t leave more grieving mothers and shattered
hearts and broken families.

It’s terrifying to contemplate honestly diagnosing the illnesses that afflict our society. It would
mean confronting long held assumptions. It would mean reckoning with our own culpability and
complicity. It would mean hearing voices we’d much rather marginalize, and seeing truths we
do not want to see.

And yet the Torah is clear: when signs of the affliction appear, we have no choice but to
investigate. To get close and assess. And root it out before it spreads, endangering everyone.

I bless us in the days ahead with consolation and with agitation. With hope and with rage. With
love and with courage. It will take all that, and more, to eradicate this deep-rooted illness, and
to begin to move on a life affirming journey toward healing.

In a moment we’ll recite the Mourner’s Kaddish, saying the names of all of our loved ones who
are no longer here with us. Today we add to that litany of grief those whose lives were taken
this past week, whose names are now etched in our collective conscience:

From Chicago, 13-year-old Adam Toledo.

From Brooklyn Center, MN, 20-year-old Daunte Wright

In Indianapolis 32-year-old Matthew R Alexander, 19-year-old Samaria Blackwell, 66-
year-old Amarjeet Johal, 64-year-old Jasvinder Kaur, 68-year-old Jaswinder Singh,
48-year-old Amarjit Skhon, 19-year-old Karlie Smith, and 74-year-old John Weisert.

Zikhronam livrakha. May their memories be a blessing. May their memories be a revolution.

Rabbi Sharon Brous                       www.ikar-la.org                                         5